


His Beautiful Dragon

by itamaraty



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dragons, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Other, Recreational Drug Use, Viserys is a fuckin furry, lowkey shades of Patrick Bateman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 11:33:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14260059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itamaraty/pseuds/itamaraty
Summary: Viserys has an expensive and exciting habit.





	His Beautiful Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this literal years ago. It's probably problematic, but when _isn't_ Viserys Targaryen problematic? Enjoy! I know I sure did.

Viserys finds Doreah in the third coffee shop he goes into.  The History of Ancient Greek Art midterm is two days from now, so she’s been studying hard—Viserys knows this because she and Dany take all the same classes, and Dany’s been using this midterm as an excuse to avoid dinner with Viserys.  (Viserys knows she’s actually out with that brute Drogo or that scum Daario, or maybe both at once, but there’s fuck-all he can do about this now that Dany’s over eighteen.)  But Doreah is actually studying.  She’s using Dany’s old Mac, the poor thing, and she’s wearing leggings and a baggy blue sweatshirt with her hair pinned up.  There’s a mug of tea next to her on the table.  How lovely Doreah is.

Viserys slides a wad of twenties rolled around his spare key onto the tabletop.  Doreah quickly scoops it up with her long fingers and slips it into her bag.  Her nail polish is chipped.  She really must be working hard, Viserys thinks, working hard because she is putting herself through college and has no other choice, not like Dany, who works hard—why?  Because it feels good?  To spite him?

“I’ll be home at 10,” he says, softly enough so no one nearby can hear him over the indie-alternative station that’s always playing in the coffee shop.  “Come at 9 so you can get ready.  I’ll leave everything on my bed.”

Doreah nods, clicking furiously away at something on Dany’s old computer.  She doesn’t look at him.

*

A few months ago, after a night of particularly good coke and particularly unsatisfying sex with two sorority girls who’d claimed to be _total Targaryen family fangirls!_ Viserys found himself on some hopeless nerd’s custom-roleplaying-costumes website at 5 AM, assembling bits and pieces in the shopping cart to make the exact kind of dragon costume he now knew he needed.  His eyes widened at the bill, but he’d had an epiphany, and a $30 dragon suit from Spirit Halloween wasn’t going to cut it.  He typed in his credit card number, clicked, and watched another chunk of Rhaella Targaryen’s inheritance go down the drain.

 _It’s only fair, Mother_ , he thought as he drifted off to sleep in the blue light of 6 am with his hand down his boxers and a smile on his face.  _You always called me ‘little dragon.’  This must be your fault._

*

Viserys bursts into his apartment with an erection that could give someone a black eye and heads right for the bathroom, where he pauses as briefly as possible to do a line off the side of his pristine porcelain sink.  It’s not the best shit but it’ll do for tonight.  He shakes his curls out of his face, rolls his shoulders back.  He hopes she is waiting for him.

“My sweet,” he calls out into the darkened apartment.  “You haven’t left me, have you?”

Each time they play this game she gets more into it (it can’t hurt that Viserys slips more and more cash into his wad of twenties each time) and after a minute or two, Viserys can almost entirely forget that she is just Doreah, Dany’s best friend and the girl he fucks more than sometimes. 

He hears a growl from his bedroom, and some chains rattle.  Meraxes is eager to greet him.  She is eager to be freed.

She is cuffed to his bed, her back arching as she tugs at her restraints.  Her black scales, flecked with gold, glimmer in the light, as does the golden tip of her tail.  When she sees him, she lunges, hissing.  She runs her tongue across her fearsome teeth, the same teeth she’ll be teasing his cock with in just a moment’s time.

“Meraxes,” he croons.  “My beautiful girl.”  He approaches her, since of course she lets him.  Such a powerful dragon must be kept chained till the one who can tame her comes along.  Viserys is a Targaryen.  He knows the way.  He scratches the ridges atop her head and she whimpers.

“Good girl,” he says.  “That’s my good girl…Let’s get you ready to be fucked.  I know you like to taste the dragon…don’t you?”

Meraxes does not respond.  A dragon must never be rude to another dragon, Viserys thinks.  He grips her scaly jaw and frees his cock with his other hand.  He brings Meraxes’ mouth down onto his erection, roughly.

Meraxes coughs and whimpers but begins to do what she does best, growling around his cock with her hot mouth, letting her teeth scrape his skin.  It hurts a bit, it does.  But sex with a dragon is not _gentle_.  A Targaryen can withstand pain.

“Yes, Meraxes, yes…” he murmurs.  “Good girl.  Oh, yes.”  Meraxes can take his cock, every inch of it, deep down her throat, and he must steel himself so that he doesn’t come like a mere mortal from just that alone.  There is still Meraxes’ cunt to claim, and then…

He shoves her face roughly off his cock, her tongue lolling, her bright eyes dazed.  She is drooling.  She would be fearsome, surely, for anyone else.  But Viserys can see her in such an undignified, tamed state.  He is her master, he’s tamed her, he _owns_ her.

“Let’s see your cunt, Meraxes.”  The mighty dragon groans, her chains rattling as she moves to prepare herself to be mounted.  He bends his head close, feeling her heat and smelling her thick scent, the musk of a dragon in heat, and spreads the pink lips of her cunt apart to humiliate her.  A Targaryen can never assert his dominance enough, Viserys believes.  “Oh, yes…She’s ready for my cock, isn’t she?”  Meraxes doesn’t respond, and he slaps her right there where she’s warm and wet.  “ _Isn’t she?”_

Meraxes whimpers.  Her tail shakes.  Viserys gets onto his knees and slides his cock into her.

“You’re perfect, Meraxes,” he says as he begins to thrust.  “You were made for me, my dragon.”   Something about saying that makes him feel like his long-dead father, and that straightens his back and quickens his thrusts.  With each jerk of his hips he is continuing the legacy that courses through his veins.  She feels better every time, he thinks to himself as he pushes in deeper, and he half-wishes tonight was going to be one of the nights when he breeds her and tells her how excited he is for him to bear his heirs. 

But that’s not what tonight is for.  He runs his hands over her scales and the ridges on her back and her mighty wings.  She strains at her chains.  What a beast she is, graceful in her ferocity, hungry and unashamed.  He would be happy to never slide his cock into the heat of a human again, not when he has Meraxes to claim and claim and claim, to bring glory back to the Targaryen line once more.

His cock pulses inside her.  He’s dangerously close to ruining his plans; that’s just how good Meraxes feels.  So he pulls out, his cock instantly arcing upward, heavy and hot.  He lets her free from her chains and she moves about behind him as he takes his turn on all fours.  A claw—it feels suspiciously like two human fingers, but he reminds himself that it’s a _claw_ —slips up his ass, and he groans at the slight stretch.  It is well-lubed, and he exhales and waits impatiently. 

Meraxes has a cock now and her claws brush against the sensitive skin of his ass as she guides it in.  She’s not so rough that he’ll lose his erection, but she’s not gentle, either.  She growls and he whimpers, softly at first and then louder.  He digs nails into his white shag rug.

When he’s mounting Meraxes or having her warm mouth prepare his cock, he talks to her, of course, but when she claims him fully, makes him _hers_ , there’s not much he can say.  Her growls command him.  Leaving his wobbly right hand on the floor, he reaches for his cock.  It is hot and swollen in his hand, slick from being inside Meraxes, and he pumps it so hard his arm muscles are burning almost instantly. He moans.  He is slobbering.  Meraxes’ mighty cock is pressing against just the right spot inside him.

“Meraxes…please,” he begs.  He doesn’t know what he’s begging for.  He just loves her so much, that’s the thing. He knows only a dragon can truly understand him.

“Viserys.”  Meraxes’ growl sounds remarkably like a human’s voice, but it’s all an illusion, of course.  His silver curls are dangling into his face, sweaty at the ends and getting caught in his slobbery mouth.  The tip of his cock is leaking, ready to go.  Her cock is unyielding, conquering.  He’s ready to defile himself for Meraxes, give everything to Meraxes.

“Come,” Meraxes commands.  “Do it now, Viserys Targaryen.”  And he does.

He collapses on his stomach, his cock making quite a mess on his nice wood floor.  He doesn’t care.

And then Meraxes is gone and Doreah has returned, sweat glistening all over her naked body.  He stares at her pale pink nipples.  They’re lovely, yes, but how much lovelier they are when they are Meraxes’ teats…

“Mmmm,” he said, not too exhausted to lick his lips as he stares at her.  On shaky legs, he climbs onto his bed.

She trots to the bathroom, so thin her ass hardly jiggles at all, and comes back with a washcloth.  She scrubs at the wet spot on the floor without being asked.   Viserys leans against his headboard, hands behind his head, and watches.

“Meraxes,” he says, smiling.

She smiles back and growls a little.  She doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

When she’s done, Viserys switches off his lamp.  He’s not at all ready to sleep—the coke will keep him up for quite a while, and the urge to fuck hasn’t quite passed—but there’s only so much he can expect from the girl.  After all, one day she might decide the dragon nights are not worth the money, and then where would he be?  Without his sweet Meraxes, and that would be terrible, _terrible._ He would be back to finding sorority girls with hair a passable shade of blonde and asking them to call themselves Daenerys for the evening, or worse yet, Rhaella—

Doreah’s lips meet his cheek with a loud _mwah_ and she snuggles up next to him with her arm thrown across his stomach, the way fictional couples often spend their post-coital time.  Then she is playing with the fine hairs below his belly button.

“You want something from me, don’t you,” he says.  Her touch feels strange to him, not arousing.  “I’ve just let you shove something up my _ass_ , Doreah.  What more could you possibly want?”

“Wow,” Doreah says.  “Dany’s right.  You really are a—”

“A what?”  There’s nothing that surprises Viserys anymore.  He’s come to collect derogatory words he’s heard used to describe him.  His favorite these days is _degenerate_ , used by that blonde girl who works in the sandwich shop, Daario (the hypocrisy of which is quite hilarious), and Dany herself.  It’s all just further proof that he is horribly misunderstood, alone in the world, and so he needs his dragons, he _needs them_ , because dragons and Targaryens understand each other. 

“Never mind.  It’s just.”  She sits up.  Her nipples are hard, possibly from brushing against his sheets.  Beautiful, proud Meraxes, her teats full and ready for him.  “The school shuttle doesn’t come out here, and I get scared walking home alone late.  Can I spend the night?”

“I like to sleep alone.”

“Viserys, please… _please_?  It’s creepy outside at night.”

Viserys sighs.  “Fine.  But don’t get used to it.”  This is the fifth time she has stayed over.  He makes a mental note to remember to schedule her for earlier in the evenings.

Doreah’s hand is back to his stomach again, and then she’s scratching his chest softly.  Her nails _do_ feel good, but Meraxes’ claws would feel better.

“You’re kind of weird,” she says at last, “but if you ever wanted to just like…you know…fuck _normally_ , the way we used to, that would be cool.”

The word _normal_ tends to fill Viserys with icy derision.  “Are you implying there’s something wrong with what we do?”

Doreah sighs.  “I was just trying to be _nice_.  I don’t know.  Never mind.”  She reaches onto the floor and comes back with her shirt, which she pulls down over her tits.  “Goodnight.”  She slides under one of his pillows, and Viserys finally has his quiet.

He slips out of bed and walks naked into his living room, where he’s left his shades up.  The moonlight is fairly bright.  He can see his shelf of his collection of dragons without needing to turn on a light.  He can’t think of anything more beautiful than his dragons.  Each looks different, yet each is fierce and proud, standing at attention for him.

“Why, hello there,” he says to the first one on the shelf—Vhagar.  “How are you tonight?”  He taps Vhagar on the head.  Vhagar is made of plastic, but it’s easy to pretend he is made of stone, and from there, what’s to stop Viserys from imagining he’s flesh and blood?  Nothing.

He touches the next one, Caraxes, on the head.  “Would you like to hear how my evening with Meraxes went?  I think you all will be _very_ interested.”

He begins to tell of his time with Meraxes as he visits each dragon, pumping his cock furiously with his other hand as he does.  Doreah’s not awake to clean his floor for him, but it’s all right, he’s with the dragons now.  They’ll order him to clean it, possibly even with his tongue, which he’ll do gladly.  There’s not much he’ll do for most people; they think he’s a heartless degenerate but they just don’t understand.  He’s saving himself for his dragons, he’ll do anything for his beautiful dragons.


End file.
